Reaching Out
by EarlyWriter
Summary: The pipes have burst in the hotel where the Hetalia gang is, forcing the nations to bunk two to a room. Somehow, Canada ends up in Russia's room. Will the sympathetic nation be the first to reach out to the cold nation? Or will he end up at the bottom of a lake for trying? Yaoi, don't like don't read. I don't own Hetalia.
1. Chapter 1

(A.N.- There will be a few other side parings in this story, but RusCan is the major one. First story posted, hope you like it!)

All Canada had wanted to do was find out where he would be sleeping at night.

This World Meeting was being held in America, never a good sign. Canada had been one of the first to arrive and had been greeted enthusiastically in a (very painful) hug from his brother. Then, as always, as soon as other nations showed up he was ignored. France, his own Papa, hadn't even looked in his direction as he was too busy messing with an annoyed looking England and trying to allow him to sleep in his bed for the night.

The reason for this (other than France just being himself) was that the pipes had burst in a little more than half of the rooms in the hotel where they were all staying at so the countries all had to double up and sleep with a buddy. In a one bedroom room. Obviously France was having a field day. After a minute, America had somehow gotten England to agree to bunk with him. France had sulked off somewhere with wine (no one had wanted to be his buddy fearing for their vital regions). Japan was looking flustered and cornered, whipping his gaze back and forth between a calm Greek and furious looking Turk. Sweden was hovering behind his 'wife' and it was assumed by all that he was bunking with Finland. Germany already had Italy hanging off of his arm and looking secretly pleased about it while Italy 'Veeee~'d away happily. No surprises there. Romano was cursing colorfully at Spain (who was munching on a tomato and watching this with a happy expression) and ended his tirade with a very dramatic huff of 'FINE!' and stalking off mumbling even more curses under his breath. It was then that Ukraine noticed him across the table. "Canada! How are you? Who are you staying with?" She asked in her excited, high voice while her… assets… moved freely and of their own will. Canada's gaze never once strayed downward from eye contact as he looked up at her from across the table. He had been (partially) raised by a gentleman after all (ignoring the fact he didn't 'swing that way' as Alfred would say). "I-I'm fine Ukraine, hello. And no, I'm not currently p-paired with someone in sleeping arrangements," he mumbled, stating something he thought was rather obvious. Who (other than her) would notice him, let alone extend some sort of act of friendship towards him? "Who are you with?" He asked politely, looking around. Turkey now had Greece in a headlock and Japan was panicking. China was no better, as a now slightly drunk France was getting a little too touchy. "Me? Oh, I'm with my baby sister! You've met Belarus right!" Ukraine answered happily. At the mention of her name, the terrifying country looked up and cocked her head to the side, wondering why her big sister was talking to herself. Shrugging she went back to sharpening her knives, smiling while she did so. Belarus reminded Mathew of Russia when she smiled like that. Shuddering he nodded in answer to Ukraine. He hadn't noticed Hungary sliding up behind him, blinking and noticing him with surprise. Who was he again…? That one nation with the polar bear, she couldn't remember his name though. Never one to be shy she put on a polite smile and tapped the slightly taller blonde on the shoulder.

Canada jumped up at the unexpected contact, spilling a now grumpy Kumajiro from his lap. He turned around with wide lavender eyes, a pleasantly surprised look on his face to see Hungary. "Hello Hungary. Did you need something?" He asked quietly, his second sentence being overshadowed by Ukraine's cheerful chirp of a greeting to the other girl.

Some part of Hungary felt bad about the fact that this nation knew her name and she had no clue who he was, but that part wasn't getting her attention. No, she was too busy thinking about how absolutely CUTE this younger-looking nation was with his wide light purple eyes and wavy, soft looking golden hair. There was an errant piece of hair in a perfect curl sticking out from the side of his head. He looked almost exactly like America (except for the eyes and curl) but acted TOTALLY different. He was just so undeniably uke. He was adorable. Hungary was just about to get into thinking about who he would look good next to when she realized she still didn't know his name. "I'm sorry, but what is your name again?" she asked as politely as she could, smiling apologetically at the mysterious nation. "I'm C-Canada," He mumbled with a slight stutter, forcing his smile not to falter. He had been expecting that question after all.

Hungary thought about it and after a second, sure enough, it rang a bell. "Canada! Yes of course, America's brother! How could I have forgotten…" She trailed off, scanning the room avidly for someone she would play matchmaker with Canada.

Canada winced, nearly unnoticeable, at the comparison. Of course, he was Alfred's brother, nothing more. Hungary looked like she was thinking about something, so he looked around the room for his beloved polar bear, not wanting to disrupt her thoughts. Of course the little ball of white fluff had ambled his way over to the sushi that had been brought by Japan and was eyeing it curiously. That bear….

Mentally huffing in frustration, Hungary was running out of options. Japan (her partner in matchmaking crime) and her had nearly everyone sorted out into parings. Only a few were left for good reasons. Belarus, Ukraine, China, Rus- That's it! Russia! How could she have overlooked the largest, and admittedly creepiest, nation in the world! Looking for the signature white scarf, she wasn't seeing any sign of him. Sighing she turned around towards Canada again and let out an 'eep'. Russia was right behind the boy facing Ukraine, looking at in profile at Canada curiously.

Snapped out of his thoughts by the noise, Canada followed Hungary's gaze (which was slightly scared he noted) over his shoulder. He was face to face with the buttons of a tan jacket and a white scarf. His breath hitching, he looked up at the Russian who was smiling down at him. "Hello comrade Canada. You are a friend of Ukraine's, da?" He asked, tipping his head to the side questioningly.

With his breath hitching in his throat, the North American country nodded. "Y-yes. H-hello Russia," He said, doing his best not to seem scared. Why did the largest nation have to be so intimidating all the time! Canada didn't think that Russia meant to be, but still. And there was the fact he had known Canada's name. Just that alone somewhat brightened his day, and that he was getting to talk to so many people. Russia was looking at him, amused it seemed, when Ukraine clapped her hands. "Oh! Canada, I don't think little Ivan has a buddy for the night either! You can be partners!" She said, ignorant of how suggestive her words sounded. She also failed to notice the horror stricken face of Canada and Russia's blank look. Hungary snuck away trying to stop her nosebleed, seeking out Japan immediately.

This could not have been more nerve-wracking. Right after Ukraine spoke her idea; Germany called all the countries to the table for the meeting. Returning shakily to his seat, he watched Ukraine and Russia leave him to go to their seats, returning the small wave of farewell from Ukraine. Russia didn't look at him. As different countries began sharing their ideas about various subjects (not all plausible ideas) he couldn't keep himself from sneaking glances at Russia. Kumajiro waddled his way back into Canada's lap smelling suspiciously of sushi.

Russia looked like he was paying attention to the meeting as always, hands folded neatly in his lap. His eyes were a few shades darker violet than Mathew's and were blank, his thoughts hidden. On either side of him was China and Lithuania. Both of them looked terrified of the large man and were scooted as far away from him as possible, perching themselves on the edge of their seats. Canada wondered if Russia minded. After all, if everyone was scared of you (foregoing Belarus and Ukraine) it was almost as bad as being ignored, if not worse. People noticed him, but they stayed away anyway. Sure, Russia had a terrible reputation because of his past but didn't they all have some things they weren't proud of? Russia wasn't really a people-person so he couldn't exactly try to mend his reputation. The poor guy was probably lonely.

With his sympathy successfully plucked, Canada vowed to do his best not to be scared of Russia anymore, and help him if he could.


	2. Chapter 2

(A.N.- This chapter... is brought to you by a friend who is telling me to post. Most chapters will not be up this quickly as school is a global disease and homework is a side affect. But here it is! And there is a cliff hanger. Muahah. Enjoy!)

At the end of the four hour long meeting, the only thing that had been accomplished was a few bruises between America, England, and France and absolute boredom for the other countries. The only amusement had been when Italy had fallen asleep and fallen over into Germany's lap. The German hadn't had the heart to wake him and the Italian was still sleeping there, now fully in the other's lap with his head resting on Germany's shoulder. Germany's face still held traces of the bright crimson it had been before. Prussia had pictures of this of course. Romano had had to be taken out of the meeting by Spain, swearing in his native language the whole way at the 'potato bastard'.

Now that the meeting was over, Mathew Williams realized he really should find out where he was staying. It was around 6 P.M. now and already dark outside, as it was the middle of December. He stood and set a sleeping Kuma down onto the chair, knowing the bear wouldn't wake for a while. Looking around at the sea of nations flowing towards the door he couldn't spot Russia or his brother. In fact, as he called out for the later, the last nation, Estonia, left and turned the light off. He sighed, left alone with his bear in a dark, empty conference room. Typical. He should write a book about his troubles.

Turning around towards the rectangular wooden table to collect his pet, something sparkled in is peripheral vision. Curious, he looked closer. It was a set of keys. They looked like they belonged to a hotel or something of the like. Checking the tag attached to the keys, he wasn't too surprised to find they belonged to the same hotel as the one that we were staying at. Someone must have forgotten them. Scooping up the 250 pound polar bear in one arm (he wasn't weak you know) he hurried for the door of the room, hoping to catch a cab soon so the person wouldn't have to wait for long.

Of course it was raining. Of course there wasn't one fucking cab in all of D.C. here to bring him to the hotel. Scratch that, there were a few cabs; they just failed to notice him. After around thirty minutes of trying (and failing) to hail one of the yellow vehicles he gave up and began walking. It was around four and a half miles and he knew the way, so he sucked it up and began the rather short journey.

He only had on his favorite red maple leaf sweatshirt with a thin white tee-shirt under it, blue jeans, and red converse so he was soaked quickly and thoroughly. Kumajiro was tucked into his sweatshirt with his head poking out of the collar. Canada didn't know what he would do if his bear got sick but he couldn't do much else. If anything, Matthew himself was warmer because of the bear's body heat. His hair was dripping and sticking to his face. The once dry socks now squelched with each step he took. He hadn't bothered to put his hood up, knowing from the start that it would be useless. The key was safely in his jeans pocket, and his hands under his sweatshirt, buried in his polar bear's fur to keep warm.

There wasn't anyone on the streets of America's capital, Washington D.C., but he knew he was a pitiful sight. It was a good thing that he couldn't get sick because he would surely catch a cold if he could. After about a mile, he was shivering and doing his best to keep his teeth from chattering. At around two and a half miles, it began raining harder and the whispers of thunder could he heard in the distance. Canada picked up his pace to a jog (which annoyed Kumajiro who was bounced around at this pace). He had never liked the loud rain with its destructive lightning and defeating thunder. He firmly told himself it wasn't because he had been terrified of the thunder when he was little. He had hated the strange, loud noise that followed rain. France had always comforted him though. It felt nice to remember those times when he was loved, safe, remembered. He recalled one specific night, only days after he had become France's colony….

_ The rain was pouring all its fury towards breaking the glass bedroom window, only barely failing in its quest. A little ball was shivering under a thick satin comforter, trying to bury its way away from the angry rain. Canada held Kumajiro close, burying his face into thick fur. The bear was roughly his size and was doing its best to comfort the boy, licking his face and rumbling away. _

_ The first strike of lightning was missed by the boy who had his head covered and eyes closed, but it would have been impossible to miss the thunder. It roared through the land, through the house, through a very young Canada, scaring him to the core. He gripped his friend painfully tight as a terrified scream tore past his quivering lips. He was crying by the time papa burst through the door, just in time for another crash of the monstrous noise. Whimpering, he didn't see the blonde figure let out a breath of relief, scared something had happened to his little Mathieu. He walked towards the shivering lump, he heard the bear that the boy insisted on keeping with him at all times growl in warning. Mattie's head poked out from under the pile of blankets. His watery light violet eyes brightened as he saw the outline of what could only be his papa. "Papa!" he cried out in joy, throwing the covers off of him and letting Kumajiro go (the half-strangled bear was thankful for this) and running to France. _

_ The French nation smiled as he felt tiny, but strong, arms wrap around his leg. He rested his hand on top of the young boy's head. "Shhh, Matthew. You're fine. It's just some thunder," He mumbled calmingly, picking the boy up. Gently, he put the boy back to bed, sitting on the edge. The bear came and burrowed his way into Canada's side, while a soothing French lullaby guided him to sleep, the reassuring weight of his papa's hand never leaving his head._

Shaking his mind out of the memories, he sighed happily despite the fact that he couldn't feel his toes. He really did miss his papa, England, Alfred, everyone. Maybe he would admit to being lonely if he thought he could change anything. Now the nation who had loved him, raised him, and sung him to sleep hardly remembered him most of the time.

Checking the street signs, Matthew realized he was close to where the hotel was located. The rain hadn't let up at all, and showed no intention of stopping. Canada couldn't even bring himself to care. Finally glimpsing the light flashing the name of his destination, he was incredibly relieved.

Entering the hotel he dug Kumajiro out of his sweatshirt and set him down. The bear promptly shook himself and got the entire two foot radius wet. The look he shot the desk attendant dared her to comment. He pulled the key from his pocket and headed up the stairs. The key claimed to belong to room 103 on the third floor so that's where he was headed. Pulling out his phone (which he had thankfully managed to keep dry somehow) he checked the time and blinked in surprise. It was 7:18 P.M. already. He hoped whoever had left the keys had a spare. Finding himself standing in front of the room with Kumajiro by his side he paused for a second. Politely he knocked at first. Earning no response, he knocked again. With the same result he put the key into the lock praying that he wouldn't walk in and create and awkward scene.

Turning the key and twisting the door open, he was greeted to a dark room. Opening the door a little wider he took a step into the room, squinting. Maybe the room was vacant and he would-

Any thoughts were cut off by a well swung water pipe to the side of his head.


	3. Chapter 3

(A.N. - I always hate it when Russia says Da way to much so he shall not be saying 'da' after every flipping thing he says. Also, I am using Google Translate for all foreign words and we all know that can be completely unreliable. This is sort of a filler chapter and stuff is picking up next chapter!)

A loud rumbling on his chest was what finally woke Canada. Feeling sluggish, groggy, and tender on the back of his head, he was reluctant to open his eyes. Then he realized the rumbling was actually quite real and not some half-lucid imagining. He could feel it vibrating through his chest. Peeking through his lashes took more effort than he thought necessary for such a simple action. A pair of violet eyes, almost exactly like a certain Russian's, was blinking at him inches from his face.

Alarmed, he blinked hard to clear his head, now fully awake. The uniquely colored eyes were set in a fluffy grey feline face. The cat was incredibly fluffy and his (Canada thought it was a he) fur was extremely soft. He could tell as a tail was brushing against his hand. The fluffy beast had the same distinctive nose as Russia did and he wondered if this was the feline interpretation of the nation.

Deciding he should really find out where he was, Canada sat up (holding the cat so that he wouldn't fall) and saw a hotel room.

The furniture was a black stained wood and had light green and grey accents on it. He was on a black leather couch facing a good sized flat screen television. Matthew placed the cat on his lap, petting it absently. He was sitting on a towel, which confused him until he remembered he had been completely soaked when he had reached the room. Then hit on the head with a very hard and ruthless object. Recalling that detail specifically he looked to the left of the couch to locate his assailant (though he already had an educated guess).

Sure enough, Russia looked back at him with a blank stare from a chair by the window and Canada was taken back for a moment. He had never seen the nation without his heavy tan jacket and boots before, not even when the weather was warm. Russia was wearing what looked to be pajamas; a plain baggy white tee-shirt and sweatpants. He still had the infamous white scarf that consistently occupied his person wrapped around his neck. Kumajiro was snoring happily away in the man's lap.

Shying away under the tall man's stare, the promise to himself that he had made about Russia swam to the forefront of his mind. Previous thoughts on the topic of the artic nation came back and the blonde did his best to set aside his initial fear. It had been a reaction of habit and he wasn't proud of it. Of course, he had been sat on all those times….

Shuddering at the memories, Canada cleared his throat and asked, in what he hoped was his normal, quiet voice what the time was. He'd already assumed it was night as there was no light filtering through the window. "Around ten o'clock," Russia said back, little emotion to be found in his voice or eyes.

Canada didn't particularly want to ask why he had been hit on the head at that second and he figured Russia would explain (maybe even apologize though he didn't get his hopes up). So he and waited in expectant silence.

And waited. And waited.

Finally giving up on that topic he turned his attentions to the cat in his lap. Canada pet the feline a few times from the top of its head all the way down its tail and the purring which had woken him increased. Soon he found a spot just behind the cat's ear that, when scratched, caused the cat to push his head into his hand. Smiling softly he was startled by the accented words that spilled into the silence.

"Пушистый usually isn't that nice," Russia said, watching the scene. For the first time he saw the purple gaze affectionate to something other than his sisters (or vodka). Canada thought it looked better on the man than the constant creepy or emotionless expression. "Does that mean anything in Russian?" Canada inquired. He didn't know any Russian other than the basic "yes", "no", and "how much".

Almost reluctantly Matthew received an answer, Russia not looking away from Пушистый as he spoke. "Da. It means fluffy," He said in a defensive tone, daring Canada to comment on it.

Unable to help it, a smile tugged at Matthew's lips and he only just managed to keep a chuckle from escaping. Russia, known as the scariest and creepiest nation of them all, had a cute cat named fluffy. Personally, Canada thought it was nice that the larger nation had a soft spot for something other than hard alcohol. It gave him something to work with in his mission to get the Russian to be recognized as something other than a person to be avoided. Russia, wary of the smile on the younger's face set Kumajiro down (who looked at Russia like a traitor for doing so) and stood up, walking towards the bed. "Your things are by the door. There is a blanket and pillow at the foot of the couch. You sleep there, da?" he said, not leaving any room for disagreement. Matthew really couldn't complain. Instead he just rose, rubbing the back of his head tenderly, and went to where Russia had said his stuff was. Sure enough a black suitcase with a red maple leaf on the front was perched next to the door. Canada wondered who brought it up.

Retreating to the bathroom he brushed his teeth and hair and changed into something to sleep in which ended up being a grey shirt and pajama pants with maple leaves printed on them. He turned off the lights and did his best not tripping over anything on his way to his 'bed'. Curling up on the part of the couch that wasn't taken up by a large cat and larger polar bear he spared one last glance towards the bed. A lump of Russian was silhouetted and seemingly asleep. Silently, Canada bid him good night; he would hate to wake him. He then fell into the realm of sleep himself.


	4. Chapter 4

When Canada woke up, his head was much better. Pale sunlight was filtering through the windows and weakly illuminating the room. There was a cat curled around his head and a polar bear on his stomach. Fluffy's tail was under his nose and tickling him. Gently moving both the animals so he could sit up, Canada yawned and stretched, his fingers curling and uncurling above his head. Reaching for his glasses, that had been hidden under the couch so they couldn't be stepped on, he perched them on his nose. Upon standing he found Russia's bed was empty and heard the shower was on.

Not wanting to disturb the other country, he was quiet as he made his way around the rather small kitchen. He liked to cook and liked his room when he did so but he would make do.

Pulling out all the things for pancakes he set about making them, the familiar routine lulling him into effortless daydreaming. He began humming some song that eventually turned into singing softly in French. Kumajiro woke, knowing that his friend singing in the kitchen meant food. Fluffy followed him to the kitchen and they both parked themselves on the counter. Canada warned them both; in what he was sure was a very stern voice, that if they got fur in the food they would never see the top of a counter again.

After looking at Matthew with big, pleading eyes they both got bits of pancake. Kumajiro ate his immediately. Fluffy looked apprehensive but gave it a nibble and soon ate the rest. Purring, the Russian feline jumped off of the counter and twisted around the Canadian's feet before returning to the counter.

Russia walked out of the bathroom about five minutes or so later, fully dressed with the exception of his boots. His greyish hair was a bit fluffier than usual, but it wasn't too noticeable. A small puff of steam followed him as the door opened, curling after him like a snake. Smelling something cooking, he looked towards the kitchen where he glimpsed Canada making the final, sixth pancake of a rather large stack. He was wary, wondering if they were some part of the Canadian's plot to poison him (not that it would do much). Russia decided he would try the food.

Then he remembered this was England's son. Yet he was also France's. Oh well, if it sucked he would wash it away with vodka (which he'd probably do anyway).

The scraping of chair on tile was all it took to scare the crap out of Canada. Matthew jumped when at the sound and flicked his wrist up, sending the pancake that had been in the pan high into the air and pointing the pan at Russia as a weapon. When he registered it was only Russia behind him (which wasn't too reassuring anyway) he let out a breath and caught the pancake perfectly. He was very jumpy in the mornings especially. "G-good morning. Pancakes?" He asked in that quiet voice of his. Without waiting for an answer he put a stack of four in front of Russia as well as maple syrup. Russia looked dubiously at the bottle of light brown gooey goodness. "Don't worry, it's the good stuff. I made it myself. It's not that cheap, fake…" Canada trailed off, muttering a colorful array of insults in French, setting his own slightly smaller stack in front of him. He was seated across the table, looking at Russia expectantly, hopefully, and timidly all at once.

The largest nation felt a strange compulsion to eat the pancakes. It was those eyes, those light violet eyes, almost like his own yet different in every way. He poured some syrup on top of them. Of course these 'pancakes' wouldn't have anything on Russian cuisine, but he'd at least-

They were amazing.

They were fluffy, light, and all things amazing. The syrup somehow made it even better, complementing it perfectly without being too sweet. Of course, such praise would never pass his lips. He was surprise he even thought it. Instead he just swallowed and offered a gruff "It's good," to the young chef. He watched, amused though his expression never changed, as the Canadian perked up and smiled brightly. He reminded Russia of a less-annoying version of his brother. Then he remembered his shyness and coughed slightly. "Thanks," he mumbled quietly, while looking intently at the pancakes he was drowning in syrup.

The rest of the meal continued in silence, both of them watching their food. Occasionally, Canada would flick his gaze up to the Russian, then back to his food with an unreadable expression. Russia had been pleasantly surprised by the silence. Unlike America, Canada didn't seem to find the need to fill the silence. And he actually knew how to graciously accept praise. It was hard to believe they were brothers.

When Russia was on his last pancake, he felt a pressure on his leg. Looking down, he saw that polar bear that was always in Canada's arms was looking between him and the pancake with baleful black eyes. With a twitch of the lips as he fought back a smile, Russia slipped the bear the pancake.

Canada really wished taxis were bigger.

After they'd both gotten ready, Canada and Russia had stepped outside to find the storm from last night had tuned down to a light and dreary drizzle; the kind that soaks you through before you know it. Not wanting to get wet, they hailed a taxi for the pretty short distance.

It seemed much longer when you were squished between a rather heavy polar bear and rather large Russian.

Canada was pressed into the cloth seats that smelled of air freshener by Kumajiro on his lap. Or rather half of the bear, as he only had the back end of Kumajiro Russia had his front. Matthew had to fight down a smile when Russia pet Kuma's head when he didn't think Canada was looking. It's kind of cute actually- Wait what? Did he honestly just think Russia was cute?

Well, he certainly wasn't as cruel and creepy as the other nations thought he was. He had actually been nice in his own way. Kuma obviously liked him, and he was a good judge of character for a polar bear (he had the whole animal senses thing going for him). Plus the way Matthew's leg was pressed against Russia's was very pleasantly distracting. Maybe he did like the larger nation.

Would that explain the way he wanted Ivan to smile? Not the fake smile, but the real one he hasn't seen. Would that explain why he wanted to help the older nation, who so desperately needed help? He guessed he had liked Russia for a while now and just hadn't realized it.

Too bad he would probably never act on his feelings.

Paying the driver with a distracted half smile, he clambered out of the car with an arm full of Kumajiro. Polar bears are so awkward to travel with, in case you wanted to know.

Now that he knew he liked Russia, any sort of conversation or interaction would leave him scarlet. Oh well, there really wasn't anything he could do about it. Fake a cold maybe? Something of that nature. Or perhaps- "It seems we are rather early, da?" Russia's rolling accent startled him out of his contemplations. Canada, in a rare bout of dry humor, scoffed and said "They wouldn't notice if I was late anyhow," he said with a biting tone. Realizing what he'd just said, the blonde promptly began babbling. It was a self-defense mechanism. He babbled when he was nervous or slipped up. He hadn't meant to tell anyone how much it bothered him that he was forgotten. It wasn't their fault. It was his.

When his head and mouth finally synced up, he found himself babbling on about 'how a micro nation such as Sealand was acknowledged more than him!' and 'how dare that little hoser pretend to be him, he was nowhere near as short as him!' They were walking through the door to the conference room side by side. Russia was actually chuckling about his antics. It was a real smile and chuckle, which was a victory in itself for Canada, who smiled also.

Neither of the two largest nations thought about what it would look like to France, England, and America who were sitting in the room.

The room before the duo went absolutely silent. America, who thought nothing other than 'communism!', immediately jumped into action, yelling "Mattie, I'll save you!" at the top of his lungs and lunging for Matthew's arm, pulling him to his side. He wrapped his arm around his startled younger brother, making him drop Kumajiro. He proceeded to glare at Russia and childishly stick his tongue out at him. How dare that Russian stand next to his innocent little bro! He would be the hero and save his brother before the Russian did something inexplicitly yet undeniably evil.

During this, Canada was protesting in his soft voice, stammering slightly. His gaze passed over Russia and he could have sworn –just for a second- that his large pale hand reached out after him. It hovered for a second before dropping back to Russia's side, as if he changed his mind.

France and Britain, being of more perverted minds, thought of a different explanation as to why Canada and Russia seemed friendly and arrived at the same time. England was too surprised and his thoughts jumbling together too fast for him to move. France, on the other hand, quickly composed himself and walked over to his fils.

Matthew, who was still tucked under his brother's arm, smiled at his père. France smiled back "Bonjour, mon petit Matthieu! I forgot to ask, with whom did you end up sharing a room with last night?" he asked very casually, looking at his nails. Canada opened his mouth to answer his père, but the Russian who still stood in the doorway beat him to it, his Russian accent licking at his words.

"Comrade Canada's night was spent with me. He met my little friend."

One cannot accurately imagine the look on England and France's faces. America was just kind of scrunched up his nose and huffed, not fully understand how those words could be taken the wrong way. Canada was quietly coughing into his elbow, his face rivaling one of Spain's tomatoes while thinking 'Oh god why'. England's jaw dropped and emerald eyes went wide, looking between Russia and Canada with rapid speed. Had he been drinking tea he would have choked on it. France's expression was the worst though. It was the terrifying look of a father whose innocent son had just been de-flowered (which is exactly what he thought had happened) and was out for blood. The Frenchman was very glad in that moment that idiot America had pulled Canada out of the way. He wouldn't want the poor lad to get hurt. That was his last thought as he jumped at Russia, hands outstretched and a snarl marring his face.

Matthew felt like he was watching the scene in slow motion. His père seemed to hang suspended in the air for a second. Russia was standing there with a surprised look in his purple eyes, a fake and childish smile on his face that Canada hated. Then time sped up as soon as France reached the larger nation, ramming into him with enough force to make the grey-haired nation stumble. Canada could do nothing but stare in horror for a few seconds, wondering what was preventing the other nations in the room for stopping the fight that was ensuing. Maybe it was the fact it was the 'terrifying Russia'. Or maybe it was that crazed, determined, out-for-blood look in France's blue eyes. If no one else was going to stop them Canada would. Setting his jaw and shoving his brother away, making America stumble back to keep from falling (Matthew wasn't weak you know) he ran towards the two fighting nations just as France took a swing and Russia dodged it. First he tried shouting, but his quiet voice wasn't heard over the scuffling. After seeing no other way, he stepped in between them to get them to stop.

Bad idea if he ever had one.

France had just swung a right hook, and Canada had just stepped right into its path.

The Frenchman wasn't able to react quickly enough and Canada met the fist of a furious nation that was very experienced in hand to hand combat to his left side. The thud of flesh on flesh resounded in the silent room, and every nation there held their breath.

Realizing what he had done, France gasped, muttering a string of apologies in rapid French. Matthew's head was too preoccupied swimming in pain to decipher it. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, unable to draw the air that had been forcibly knocked out of him back into his lungs. After about forty or so seconds he was able to. He coughed before sucking in air painfully, his head clearing slightly. Damn, did his dad throw a mean punch. He had just begun coughing again when unfamiliar arms wound their way under his knees and around his torso before lifting him from the ground. Naturally, he flailed. He wasn't to be picked up like a doll! His masculinity demanded he be put down, lest it be called into question! Yet, when his surprised eyes met Russia's, he could only turn bright crimson and cough into his elbow, looking away quickly. Germany's voice boomed behind them as they left, signaling the beginning of the meeting. He bobbed slightly with the sway of Russia's long gait, Kumajiro on the heels of the Russian, following them as they left.

When they got back to the hotel (he was no longer being carried, he had firmly refused when the taxi dropped them off) it had begun snowing. Matthew noticed Russia looking disdainfully at the fluffy precipitation and wrapping his scarf tighter against his neck. Canada ignored it, unlocking the hotel room with the key Russia let him keep. His side twinged painfully whenever he twisted around or something of the like and was most definitely going to bruise, but it wasn't too bad. He'd had worse after all.

Had he not been shy, he would have asked Russia why he carried him. Or why the largest nation wouldn't look him in the eye now. But, alas, he was shy and none of the questions bouncing around his brain ever passed his lips.

Sighing (and regretting the action soon after when the pain in his side flared) Canada realized he was quite tired. He walked towards the couch to curl up and go to sleep, even though it was only around one o'clock. Russia, who was taking his boot and jacket off, saw what he was doing and spoke up. "Nyet. You take the bed," He said, earning a curious and thankful look from the Canadian. A bed was kinder to a sore side than a couch after all. Kumajiro looked ready for a nap also. With the snow falling in thick, picturesque flakes onto the harsh concrete below, Canada drifted off to sleep, with a pair of unreadable amethyst eyes watching him.

(A.N.- Yay! It is done. THANK GOODNESS. Things picked up in this chapter! Whoo hoo! I actually had a whole different idea for the meeting but a very AWESOME friend of mine helped me with the idea for that. She is my plot helper. What else are study halls/phone calls for? Anyway, thank ya'll for readin. Reviews are fun! Oh, thoughts were in italics. And I honestly have no idea when the next chapter is going to be up. Oh yeah and translations:

Bonjour, mon petit Matthieu= Hello, my little Matthew

Père= father

Nyet= no

Da (oh this is a hard one…)= yes


	5. Chapter 5

(A.N.- ok so I am doing something different by starting things off by focusing on RUSSIA! I love him so very much. And you too Canada. I LOVE THEM ALL! (except for maybe china. And Belarus. They get in the way of my RUSCAN!) And I can beta now. YAY! Anyway, I would like to thank some reviewers: ChibChib (YOU WERE THE FIRST REVIEWER!), Animedemon01, FreelancerRiley, love-child-tokyo, nana, TiggitNeko, Taco-Nyan (hugs), and eman (I LOVE YOUR REVIEWS!), and everyone else who reviewed. Without further ado (is that how you spell it? *shrugs*) I give you chapter five! -if any of ya'll were wondering, I haven't used 'Ivan' which is Russia's human name on purpose. And Canada's name hasn't been spoken aloud by Russia yet. Oh and some swearing in this chapter along with other things. And the setup for later angst is at the end! Ok. Now read. Go. Shoo. Read it. Then review (please?))

Conflicted violet eyes watched the sleeping Canadian, blinking on occasion. Russia just couldn't understand how two things were possible. First, how someone could be so cute when they were sleeping. Second, why the shy nation wasn't running away from him yet. How could Canada look at him, _Russia_, without flinching, without paling and wishing away his presence? That was what everyone else did.

Oh no, the other nations never outright said to him how they felt. They never said to his face that he was creepy and they didn't want him there, they were too scared of him to do that. But Russia is by no means a stupid or inattentive nation. They still judged him for his Soviet Days and call him a monster, didn't understand he suffered because of his bosses decisions too. He guessed that, over the years, he'd forced his image to be that way. He wanted one person to acknowledge that he wasn't going to snap and hurt them, that he wasn't a monster anymore… which brought him back to Canada. Could the young nation like him? Or be too polite and kind for his own good. Personally, Ivan thought the later was a more plausible idea. There was nothing to like about him. He was just a big scary nation that hid behind his scarf, and wasn't good with emotions. He wasn't physically attractive either with his too-large nose and weird purple eyes.

'Canada's eyes are purple also' he reminded himself. But, for as similar the two were they might as well be different colors. He always saw his eyes as a dull, violet color that was just weird. Canada's were lighter; more of a lavender color and had some flecks of blue and darker purple in them. They were expressive and kind and…. He was scaring himself. Did he really like the nation that much? Apparently so. The blonde's family already obviously hated him already. What if the smaller Canadian was frightened of him? He really didn't want to scare Canada but he wasn't exactly well rehearsed in being friendly. What if Canada shoved him away? What if he found out Russia liked him and ridiculed him, called him a monster. He really didn't think he could handle it. But he was stuck in a room with the Canadian for a few days. The rest of the week was looking like it was going to be torture.

Sighing and turning on the television, Russia set the volume to where he could barely hear it from his seat on the couch so he wouldn't disturb the Canadian. The weather channel was what it was was tuned on to and Russia decided to look at that. He was dismayed to find that there were warnings about the snow. With a glance outside, Russia confirmed that the snow hadn't let up at all and seemed to be coming down harder now. He frowned; he got enough snow at his place. Now it looked like he was going to be snowed in at an American hotel… with the object of his affections. Damn it….

Russia jumped into the air when he heard a shrill noise. He was halfway to where his trusty pipe was resting against the wall when he realized it was Canada's phone. It was playing a song… something about Canadian Please…

He watched Canada groan and sit up, reaching for his phone (more like groping blindly without his glasses on) as Russia dropped the hand extended toward his pipe. No, he was not paranoid, just very… cautious. Russia returned to the couch and sat down as Canada grumbled hello into the phone.

As annoying as Matthew found his brother annoying and overbearing at times, he was still a pretty good brother. He could have worse after all. Alfred had called him wanting to apologize, or rather his version of an apology. Rather than admit he had been wrong (the Hero was never wrong after all) America had told him he had found a good, scary movie and wanted to watch it with him. Mattie couldn't help but smile, but had to decline. He was still tired and really didn't feel like moving. He wasn't surprised to hear that it was ok, the movie was outside his door anyway. Sighing and bidding his brother goodbye, Canada hung up and put his phone down. He looked around the fuzzy room, after a moment of confusion, put his glasses on to see Russia looking at him. The other nation seemed curious with his head tilted to the side. With that expression on his face… he looked rather cute.

Russia's features were dimly lit, thrown into contrast by the flashing television. The light grey hair adorning his head looked darker than it had earlier. Bangs were hiding his forehead and just dusting his eyes. The stripe of his eyebrows could be seen through the gaps, one arching up in his confused expression. His nose was admittedly a bit large, but Matthew thought fit his face perfectly. It was rounded and just the slightest bit crooked as if it had been broken once or twice, yet anything other wouldn't have looked like Russia. His pale lips weren't pulled into an unnatural, childish smile; instead they were parted slightly. Canada wondered if they were as soft as they looked right then. His jawline was straight and strong, angular with an edge. Trailing his gaze back up, Mattie found his gaze captured. Delicate, lightly colored eyelashes framed his eyes as Russia blinked owlishly at him. His eyes were the most stunning color Canada had ever seen. They were of the violet variety with so many more colors flecked in, mixing to a hypnotizing swirl. There were some darker flecks of purple around the iris that faded to an indigo, all with a backdrop of that amazing violet and ringed by dark purple. They seemed to change with the moods of the Russian, flickering like a flame. Matthew didn't know what Russia saw looking back at him, but he saw the eighth wonder of the world; something he craved but was too afraid to reach out and touch.

In an instant they both seemed to realize they were staring at each other and busied themselves doing something. Matthew (who was scarlet faced) stood and checked outside the door. Sure enough a scary-looking movie was propped up against the wall to his left. The Grudge was scrawled across it in bleeding lettering. Shrugging he picked up the movie and turned back to Russia. He avoided looking at the larger nation by reading the back of the movie while he talked. "Eh, Russia, wanna watch this movie?" He asked in his whispery voice. Automatically, the nation asked "What movie?" before thinking about it and adding on "Where did you find it?"

"Oh, Alfred left it, it's called The Grudge. It seems scary. Are you up for it?" the blonde joked, a smile unwittingly tugging the corners of his lips up. Russia was secretly happy the little Canadian didn't stutter when talking to him anymore (he sounded a bit like Lithuania when he stuttered). Because of this, his voice was slightly cheerful when he answered "Da!"

The grey haired nation watched Canada crack open the thin box and pull out a disc. The black box situated under the tv hungrily ate up the movie when it got the chance. As the North American nation was fiddling with buttons and such he realized he would have to share the couch (and for those of you who thought 'isn't it obvious!?' thinking straight wasn't very easy with a cute blonde bending over like that in front of him.)

Now normally this wouldn't be a problem, but this was only a relatively small hotel couch and Russia was not the smallest nation and neither was Canada. He'd have to be close to watch the movie with Canada, who had now scampered off to get popcorn.

He knew it sounded bad, but he really hoped the younger nation got scared.

His imagination had a field day with that idea, scampering off through a field of sunflowers and leaving Ivan sitting there in an embarrassed state, trying to distract himself with anything. Anything wasn't enough to get his thoughts away from the Canadian.

Around that time was when Canada skipped back into the room. Literally skipped. It might not have been the manliest of walks but Russia wasn't going to judge. In his hands were two bowls of kettlecorn popcorn. Russia inwardly frowned at this (one of the aforementioned fantasies had started off with hands brushing over popcorn. No he was not hopeless. There is a good freaking reason it is cliché) but oh well. Pressing the green play button with his foot, Matthew came over to the couch. He handed Russia the blue bowl of popcorn, keeping the white one for himself. It was only upon further inspection, but did Canada's bowl of the movie time snack seemed a bit darker in color. It was only when he took a breath through his nose when he smelled it. Maple syrup. The boy had maple syrup on his popcorn. Not cheese, salt, butter, or something at least slightly normal; no he had maple syrup drizzled over them. Maybe that was why he had given Russia a separate bowl. The DVD player was taking its sweet time to boot up. Then, Canada noticed that Russia was looking at this admittedly strange popcorn. The Russian had opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the Canadian. "Before you say anything, it is better than it sounds and it is not weird. Really. Try it!" Matthew defended himself. Russia looked amusedly from the offered bowl to the boy's face before hesitatingly taking a syrup-coated piece of the corn. He wasn't so sure about eating it, but the look in the blonde's eyes was more than enough to convince him to do just about anything.

After a dramatic sigh, Russia placed the unusual combination in his mouth.

Now, after so many centuries of living he didn't get to say he tried something new. It was even less likely for him to say that he liked it. The case of the maple syrup coated popcorn was a rarity then. The tall nation really hadn't expected to like it. He expected to have to swallow it and tell Matthew it was delicious. Now though, he found himself with a slightly surprised look on his face telling the younger nation it was good. At his response, Canada just smirked triumphantly which made Russia's lips twitch in a smile. He hadn't known such a shy and quiet nation could smirk.

Russia's smile only grew when the bowl of maple popcorn was wedged in the small amout on space between their legs. Oh, and if someone was to comment on the slight pink running across his cheeks, he would say it was hot in the room. His own bowl was set on the coffee table in front of them, forgotten.

The sound of hair raising music was what reminded him they were watching a supposedly scary movie. Focusing his attention back on the screen, he would be the judge of how scary it was. Time to see if Canada was as paranoid of scary movies as his brother was.

No, Canada was not scared of scary movies. In fact, Russia found the boy trying to hold back laughter and correcting the actor's stupid mistakes. He didn't so much as flinch when a woman without her bottom jaw appeared on the screen. That happened to be one part that kind of freaked out Russia, but he had seen enough with his own eyes that it wouldn't keep him from sleeping. That was proven when he fell asleep a few minutes after the popcorn disappeared.

'Russia's cute when he sleeps,' Matthew thought, smiling at the nation as the end credits were rolling. He set the empty bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of them and went to get up and retrieve the movie when he found that he wouldn't be going anywhere. Two long, powerful, and unmistakably Russian arms wrapped around his waist. Soft light grey hair brushed against his neck. The permanent scarf around Russia's neck was pressed against his arm. Fighting back a yelp of surprise, his face was reddened in seconds. He was surprised to find Russia to be a cuddly person. Then again, he was surprised to find out a lot of things about the nation beside him. That he wasn't as cold as people made him out to be. That he wasn't just a creepy nation who would 'become one with you' as soon as he had you alone. Not that he himself had ever thought those things but it surprised him just how wrong they were.

But Canada was probably deluding himself. He was, after all, a lonely soul whose day was made when someone paid attention to him. This was probably normal. It wasn't as it he had friends to compare his experiences too. Cuba didn't count as he was just as likely to punch him in the face as-

"Matthew…"

That one word just about stopped his heart. It did manage to stop his thought process.

There were a few things that were considered very personal between nation. One, was their human name. It wasn't just something you throw around and it held an unspoken weight with them. You may know another nation's name but you wouldn't use it unless you were close with them. The only ones who called him by his name were England, France, and America. He, in turn, knew theirs. Alfred wasn't exactly known for quietly using his name so he knew other people knew it. The other thing nations usually kept to themselves was the location of their flag. Each of them had a mark on their bodies like a tattoo or birthmark that resembled their flag. He knew France's was on his right shoulder blade. America's was over his heart. England's was on his ankle. Most of the time they covered their mark up with concealer so that not everyone would know where it was. Canada's flag wrapped around his left hip and was just about the size of his hand. The fact that Russia knew one of these made his heart stop. (Admittedly, that dark corner of his mind began imagining very bad, very graphic ways Russia could find out about the other one. We shall ignore that part.)

To his disappointment, Matthew didn't know Russia's name. He didn't think anyone save his sisters and maybe the Baltics did. He would have to find some way to fix that, but even he knew he was not the most forward of people. He gave a sigh, which earned him a funny look from Kumajiro. Canada's beloved polar bear was cuddling with Russia's cat; Fluffy. It was kind of funny because they both just looked like white and grey fluffy blobs.

Sparing Russia a glance he sighed and, since he didn't think he would be moving anytime soon (the arms keeping him attached to the Russian were a strong as ever even in sleep) took his glasses off. He really was terribly nearsighted. Apparently, his arm was also terribly short. He couldn't reach the coffee table with Russia pinning him to the couch. He tried twice before leaning forwards. He was so close to sliding them on the table. Almost there…

With a clatter and a thud, a sleepy Russian and a startled Canadian found themselves in a tangle of limbs. Canada's glasses had found themselves to safely on the coffee table. Canada himself wasn't so lucky, with Russia lying on top of him. He could feel the other's nose and lips pressing into his neck. His face was a whole new shade of red. Russia's arms were no longer around him, but on either side of him. The larger nation's legs were on either side of his waist. Matthew's mouth went dry when he felt Russia look up. He was squinting but still only saw the blurry outline of his face. He couldn't for sure tell what his expression was… but was Russia blushing? Well it was a pretty awkward position they found themselves in…

On another nose, damn were his lips soft! Canada was pretty sure the spot where Russia's lips had brushed his neck was tingling. It sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't move; it was like he was frozen to the spot. Even worse, he couldn't even see Russia that well! Or at least, he couldn't see well until the Russian came closer… which he did.

Before Matthew knew it Russia's eyes were staring down into his. Their noses were almost touching. Canada didn't move an inch. Neither did Russia. His mind was able to scream the statements his voice could not. Silence grew expectant, waiting to see who would speak and what would be said, who would react and who would move. Before he could stop it, Canada's mouth began to move on his own, letting words unbidden fall into the chasm of the previously nonexistent conversation. "Sorry! I didn't mean to w-wake you up. You fell asleep at the end of the movie and t-then you pinned me to the couch a-and then you talked in your sleep and-"

"What did I say?" Russia's voice cut Matthew off, curiosity and what sounded like trepidation ringing in his voice. "Y-you said Matthew," Canada replied. When Russia broke eye contact and looked like he was about to apologize Matthew interjected. "It's fine. You can call me that. I d-don't mind or anything," He said in the most casual voice he could manage. That searing purple gaze snapped back to him and he froze under it. But then Russia visibly relaxed from his surprised state and spoke, "Then you will call be Ivan, da?" Canada nodded, giving a shy smile. The name was rather nice. He was about to ask the large nation to move off of him (he was still lying under Russia) when the door behind him flew off its hinges and into the room. Matthew couldn't see who it was in the doorway, but he could see Ivan tense up and blanch and he only knew one person who could affect him in such a way.

Belarus.

It was times like these when Russia really questioned his tolerance of his sister's antics. He knew he should have put a stop to this 'marry me' business a long time ago and now it was out of hand. His sister was truly scary with her knives. He didn't think she would hurt him personally but she most likely wouldn't hesitate to harm anyone in her way of her 'marriage' to him. From the way her dark blue eyes were piercing into the Canadian under him, he didn't doubt Canada was in danger. For that reason and that reason alone, he didn't run from his sister. He wouldn't let Matvey get hurt. When his little sister flicked a knife into her hand he opened his mouth to warn her but it was too late, the knife had already left her hand. It sunk itself into the carpet next to Matthew's head. The boy jumped at this and squirmed, but Russia didn't move. He was busy anticipating what Belarus would do next. He was surprised when she simple turned to go. Surely it wouldn't be that easy? His suspicions were confirmed when she threw her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder and snarled in Russian, "Он уже не будет достаточно скоро. Я увижу вас скоро, старший брат." (He will be gone soon enough. I'll see you soon, big brother.) Then she disappeared from the doorway.

Russia knew Belarus always followed through with her threats. Which left Matvey in danger. He growled slightly from deep in his chest. No one but him would lay a finger on Matvey.

No one.


	6. Chapter 6

((AN- I find it amazing to everyone who reads this little RusCan fanfic and especially the Author's Notes. Because come on, who actually reads these things! They just give us an opportunity to ramble. That's why it's a separate paragraph, you can just skip it! Now read, my pretties. Go and read our RusCan! Also I don't own the characters, I only borrow them for my personal amusement.))

Canada really fucking wished he knew Russian.

It was kind of annoying not knowing what was said by a knife-wielding scary girl (he couldn't bring himself to call her a worse name) that was most likely about you. He assumed it was a threat which made him wonder how he could have possibly offended the Belarusian girl, but he was distracted by Rus- Ivan's (*insert blush here*) face.

It changed from scared when Belarus arrived, to determined, to… possessive? The Canadian had always been good at reading people, but he had to be wrong about that. Belarus did bring out some odd reactions from her older brother after all.

On the topic of Belarus, she was starting to piss him off. It'd been at the very least a century and she was still hopelessly chasing Ivan. They weren't actually related (none of the countries were. Canada had no doubt that the Belarusian girl clung to that fact) but they grew up together as siblings. Matthew knew Ivan would never look at Belarus that way. It would be like him 'checking out' Alfred. Which was fifty shades of wrong (omg giggle. Sorry the author is being stupid and if you understand that reference giggle with her). It made him wonder what made Belarus think that way. But that topic is for another time and a professional psychiatrist.

Matthew's back was starting to hurt. He was still on the floor and Russia was still over him. Mattie didn't even think he realized where he was any more, he had a very faraway look in his eyes. The Canadian surprised himself with the how much he wanted to know what Ivan was thinking, to know how he thought.

If only Matthew knew he was what the Russian thought.

With a whispery cough from Canada, Ivan realized himself again. Calmly he stood up, bringing the Canadian with him as an afterthought. "Matvey is light," he commented thoughtlessly. Puffing his cheeks out, the only reply was in a childish 'harrumph' of a voice, "Maybe you're just heavy, eh!" The end of the sentence was punctuated with a light poke to Ivan's chest. Matthew smiled and looked up at him with unintentional eyes of adorableness. Blinking in surprise, the Russian only chuckled. "Only big boned, Matvey." He said gleefully in a sing-song voice. Canada turned around, picking up the remote and placing it where it belonged. "You're like a bear," He said, turning back around. He really wasn't that much shorter than Russia (hell, he was taller than Alfred!) so he didn't have to reach up much to ruffle light silver-grey hair. "A big bumbling bear; all fur and no bite," He smiled softly. When Matthew's brain caught up with his words, he was mortified. What if Russia got angry? What if he offended him? What if he took it the wrong way? Why did he have to pat Ivan's head?

(Ok, that last question was one of those questions you ask yourself, your brain answers, and you pointedly ignore it. No, he did not do it to see if Ivan's hair was soft in the most casual way possible. Of course not. Silly subconscious…)

Mon dieu, what if he guessed Matthew liked him!? The blonde turned away quickly, not wanting to see the other's face. He distracted himself with playing with Kumafiro and Fluffy. Why, oh why did he have to be an idiot? Why couldn't France have rubbed off on him more? His Papa was always so proficient in these matters…

Ivan's head was swimming with the same amount of questions. Why wasn't he angry at Matvey's statement? Shouldn't he be offended? Why, instead, was there a warm feeling? He couldn't place the source of the warmth, but he felt… giddy. Did that mean Matvey liked him too? Should he say something? What should he do (other than stand there like an idiot)?

Oblivious to the two nation's turmoil, Fluffy and Kumajiro were hungry. Flattening a big, heavy paw against Matthew's side Kumajiro looked expectantly up at him. "Food," The bear demanded, looking from his Master to the kitchen. Fluffy wagged his fuzzy tail and gave the kitty version of a smile. "Fine, fine," Canada said, standing up. The two pets followed him, looking pleased with themselves. Matthew was just getting Kumajiro's food out (fish) when he realized he didn't know what Fluffy was supposed to eat. He called out to Russia who was still in the living room. "Does Fluffy have any cat food?" he asked. Matthew's voice was still quiet but Ivan managed to hear him. "Da. I'll get it," the response floated in from the doorway. Rustling was heard while he was giving Kumajiro the fish, and Fluffy was just watching with the biggest eyes ever.

Kumajiro thought Fluffy looked sad. He looked from the fish in his bowl, to the baleful eyes of the cat. After some thought he picked up a piece of fish and waddled over to Fluffy, setting down the morsel in front of the cat, nosing it towards Fluffy.

Matthew nearly had a heart attack.

Never, not once had he ever seen his bear give up food. And that was just so adorable. Almost heart-attack adorable. He was grinning like an idiot to himself when he realized he was a bit hungry too. It was around 7:30 anyway.

When Ivan came in with the cat food, Fluffy looked happy and Matvey was rifling through the refrigerator. The Russian set the bag down, suddenly finding the granite countertop immensely interesting. And no, he wasn't avoiding looking at Matthew because he was all too tempting bending over like that if you were wondering. That would be totally crass, tactless, inane, and… true.

Matthew was thinking of a sort of stew type deal. It was pretty cold out and with the snow he didn't know how long they'd have power. It's best to make something that could be eaten hot or cold, eh? With the necessary seasonings and ingredients laid out, he rummaged around to find a slow pot cooker (this was a damn good hotel). The pot was quickly turned on high with canned chicken broth poured inside it. The can was opened with a few good whacks to the counter, as Matthew was too lazy to find a can opener. As he began chopping with a skill that rivaled France's, he casually spoke, "Ivan, are you going to stand there leaning on the counter all day thinking I don't notice you?" There was an obvious smirk twirling around his words as he heard the Russian bang his knee when he jumped up in surprise.

Canada was glad the sound of the knife chopping covered up his chuckle.

"Matvey is good with a knife," Russia commented ever so quickly to change the subject. Matthew nodded, "Your sister isn't the only one talented with a lethal weapons," there was a slight pause before he continued. "Speaking of Belarus, what was it she said earlier? My Russian is a little rusty," He asked. What was said was obviously about him and it was only within his rights to know about it then. He was twirling around the kitchen chopping and adding to the soup in silence. It didn't seem Russia was inclined to answer. Oh well. Need be, he kept his (steel reinforced) hockey stick under the bed…

Ivan knew he should answer Matthew. He just really didn't want to have the boy worry. It wasn't like Belarus was going to mess with him or do anything that serious.

Worst judgment of this century.

Not that he knew that. Or anyone knew that. Right now their biggest problem was dealing with emotions. Of course, the entire 'I like him, but what if he doesn't like me back? What if he does?' game was hurting our poor Ivan's head. And what helps a headache? Nap time! Not that Russia would ever stoop to calling it that. He did have pride after all. "I think I'm going to go rest. You should wake me when dinner is done, da?" The Northern country informed his friend, already turned around and pacing towards the bed. After hearing some murmured assent he promptly flopped face down onto the bed. Why were emotions hard? They weren't even tangible, they shouldn't cause this much confusion. That was his input on the matter.

After reluctantly changing into sleeping clothes he crawled under the covers quite gracelessly. The covers were warm, the bed was soft, and his pillow was unnaturally fluffy and loud.

Once he had removed Kumajiro from the bed (he had to avoid making eye contact to do so) he laid his head on the pillow and was nearly asleep before his eyes closed.

Matthew, however, had no such luxuries. He was busy making soup. Once about two minutes passed after Russia fell asleep he was trying to make soup in the dark. Just his luck the power would go off. After putting all the ingredients he hadn't used yet back so he could finish in the morning, he stumbled into the room and managed to find his stuff. Changing was an episode that involved him knocking into the wall and hoping he didn't wake anyone.

Now, however, Canada was in a predicament. Fluffy had taken the middle of the couch and he didn't have the heart to move him. Now he stood in front of the bed with Kumajiro at his feet wondering if it was worth sleeping on the ground. Sure, it was a big enough bed, and sure he didn't take up the entire freaking bed like Alfred does but still. What would he say to Ivan in the morning? There were just a slew of awkward situations waiting to happen.

But he was freezing cold, the heat was off, and the floor was cold. Herein lay his conflict. As he was continuing to over analyze things, Matthew's polar bear decided to take things into his own paws.

With one good nudge to the back of his knees, Canada no longer had a choice in his decision. Kumajiro was good for throwing his weight around after all. With a quite undignified squawk Matthew Williams was in bed with Ivan. Every muscle was tense and he was terrified he woke Russia. That would be so rude and embarrassing.

After about a minute of silence in which Matthew hardly breathed and Russia didn't do anything, Matthew finally released the breath he was holding. Well if he was on the bed, he might as well get under the covers, right? One might think General Winter himself was in the room it was so cold. Of course when you're in a room in the middle of a blizzard in thin pajamas with the heat off, being cold is a likely outcome.

Matthew was trying is best to melt under the covers, if only that was possible. After much wiggling and pausing and dread, Canada was finally under the blankets. Ivan had his back facing Matthew, so he was pretty much just a lump of Russian on the other side of the bed. But this mattered not to the Canadian. All he needed to know was that that was Ivan Braginski, and his face was red as a rose and his heart was running on a racetrack.

Kumajiro eventually found his way onto the bed along with Fluffy, claimed their respective spots near their feet. Matthew knew that, somehow, when he woke up they would be in an embarrassing situation. He did have a tendency to gravitate towards warmth after all and Ivan was a heater, he could tell that much even with the distance between them. But that was for the morning. And hey, it couldn't be that bad, right?

Wrong!

In the morning, it was up so very different than how it had started. At some point, Russia had rolled over. Either one or both of the pair had scooted closer to the other. Matthew's cheek was pressed quite snugly against Ivan's collarbone, his wavy blonde hair tickling the Russian's face and his curl sticking up quite comically. The taller nation had one arm around the other, keeping him close while the other was wedged somehow comfortably under the Canadian. Canada's arms were curled up to his chest, and resting against Russia's ribs. One of the more interesting parts, however, was that Matthew had managed to wrap one leg over Ivan's hip.

Ivan's jaw had fallen slack while he was sleeping and Matthew was doing the quietest and cutest version of a snore (it was almost a sort of purr). Wrapped quite intimately around each other, it was now only a waiting game.

_Who would wake up first?_

((AN- What a question. And because I like to be interactive with my audience (OMG I have an audience! Realization.) I will ask you guys. Who do you want to wake up first? Or do you want them to wake up at the same time? Please answer by the fifth (two days)(Wednesday), that's when I want to start writing the next chappy. (And I might just disregard your thoughts and do what I want anyway but still). And I know I suck for not posting in forever. I know. Please review! They make me happy! Almost as happy as Kumajiro with a lifetime supply of fish.))


	7. Chapter 7

**At least I'm consistently updating late. ((NOT)) Do you have any idea how hard it is to write when FanFiction is just like "Oh why hello there. Why don't you read me? Hm? Read. Now." So it's pretty difficult to type. And also the next two chapters are going to be rather short (yet funny) but that means they'll get posted sooner! Hurrah! SLIGHT SPOILER:And after those chapters prepare for angst of epic proportions *evil smile* **Also, the italics are now showing other people on the phone. You'll see what I mean later. And I'd be lying if I didn't type Iggy's words in an accent in my head…**

Fluffy was quite the early riser. Of course, if he was up then someone else had to be awake with him. Such was the thinking of cats. Yet being the respectful Russian cat he was raised to be, Fluffy didn't jump on his master's head and make a fuss as there was company. He was raised to be a polite Russian kitty. Instead, Fluffy chose to wake people up by stepping around their feet. Kumajiro was the first to wake with a deadly looking yawn. Effectively distracted by the awakening of his friend, Fluffy brightened and quickly jumped off the bed followed by the polar bear.

Russia's chin was perched on the top of Canada's head. His eyes creaked open and he gave a contented sigh, clutching the warm body closer and burying his nose into maple syrup scented curls- wait. What the hell?!

Doing his best not to simply jump up and grab his pipe, he decided to use his senses.

He only heard soft snoring, if it could be called that. It was a quiet purr on the exhales and it was muffled.

He could feel even breath ghosting across his collarbones, warmth pressed against his chest, curled up comfortably, and something that felt suspiciously like a leg hooked around his hip.

It smelled of maple syrup and with an undertone of soap.

His mouth tasted of his favorite toothpaste brand (no surprises there, thank heavens).

Only one more left, and Ivan already had a pretty good idea of what, or more accurately whom, he was cuddled up with.

Ivan opened his eyes to soft, shiny, silky golden hair. Angling his head slightly so he could look down, his previous suspicions were confirmed. He had an armful of Canadian, and he had no idea how it happened. As if he cared. Canada had probably just gotten tired of the couch. The quiet nation was too polite to kick him out of the bed, therefore putting them in their current situation.

Hurrah.

Ivan didn't care how it happened, all that mattered was that he had Matthew in his arms (conscious or not) and he was going to savor every second of stolen time.

He admired the perfect way his hand fit in the small of Canada's back. He adored the way Matthew curled up as close as he could to his chest. He treasured the soft feel of the ivory skin, and the silk of his hair. As curious, gentle violet eyes trailed their way down a perfect Canadian body, Ivan was quick to notice the stripe of skin exposed by Matvey's shirt riding up. Half of the Canadian flag wrapped around Matvey's hip was peeking out at him.

He really did try not to think of anything. He tried not to think of just how badly he wanted to see the other half of that maple leaf. He tried to look away, he really did. But that was Canada, and the Siberian nation was rendered powerless.

The only thing that got his gaze off of that mark was Matthew shifting slightly in his sleep, moving his head slightly so that his lips were incidentally pressed against the hollow of the Russian's throat. Ivan could feel warm, even breaths floating across his skin and he shivered.

Why couldn't it be this easy? He asked himself, ghosting his lips over Matthew's forehead. After a second's pause over that question, he realized there really wasn't a reason. Why the hell SHOULDN'T he? All the fear over what Matthew thought, the thought of rejection... he'd never know if he didn't. And nearly anything was better than this uncertainty. He should just tell Matthew.

With his mind made up, Russia gently untangled himself from the young nation. He was careful not to wake the boy and stood up, yawning and stretching. A few of his bones popped when he stretched but that was to be expected. It was cold in the hotel room; the power was out still, so he put his scarf back on. He turned around, took a deep breath, and was about to wake Matvey up when both of their phones went off on the bedside table. Russia almost had a heart attack.

Matthew, who had been previously sleeping soundly, heard his phone and rolled over with a groan. After putting on his glasses he checked his phone, scrunching up his nose as he did so.

Ivan wondered if he was being this cute on purpose.

After his sleepy lavender eyes scanned the note, he smiled, speaking with the tone of a child with a snow day, "The meeting was cancelled!" The end of the sentence was punctuated by a yawn. With the news he didn't have to move all day he burrowed back under the covers, just his head peeking out to blink at Ivan. "Aren't you cold? It's freezing! I bet the power's out," he spoke, half to himself. Then he focused his eyes back on the Russian, catching his violet eyes. "Come on, you were warm," Matthew whined like Alfred, yet not half as annoyingly. It was more of in a cute way. Russia turned a light pink across his cheeks, trying (and failing) to hide his embarrassment behind a cough.

Canada had no clue where his bravery came from, but he wasn't regretting anything. When he saw Russia blushing he just grinned to himself. Wouldn't France be proud now! Well probably not, but still. At least it wasn't him blushing this time. He watched as Ivan controlled himself, lowering his arm and coughing slightly. Even though he was still a bit pink in the face, he met the other's gaze. He looked like he was nervous, but determined. Just as he opened his mouth to tell Matthew just how he thought about him, Canada's phone rang.

The device was still in his hands, playing Beethoven's Fifth quite angrily from the palm of his hand. He gave Russia an apologetic look as he clicked the green answer button. "Hello? England?" _Ah, hello lad. It's been forever since we had a chat!_ Deciding not to point out this was because the self-proclaimed gentleman forgot his existence most of the time unless it was beneficial to him, he just sighed, mumbling into the phone "Yes, it has hasn't it." _Well, I was thinking I could come and visit you then lad, maybe bring some scones over…_ "NO!" Matthew yelled quickly into the phone, making Russia raise his eyebrow at the sharp exclamation. Canada fumbled for a good excuse for damage control. "I was, um, already making pancakes. So you don't have to bring scones" Russia's eyes widened comically and he nodded his head vigorously. "So um, when is it you wanted to come over?" _Oh well, now is fine._ Canada put his head in his hands. Stupid freaking morning people, intruding on his time with Ivan…

"Um, o-oui, sure just let me get dressed really quick… I'll text you when you should come over." _You mean you aren't already dressed yet? But I thought you were making pancake-_

Times like these, smart people hang up. Matthew was a very smart person.

After throwing his phone on his pillow (which he hadn't used, as Ivan's arm is much more comfortable) he stood and stretched like a cat. Then he blinked lavender eyes owlishly at Ivan. When he spoke, he sounded apologetic, "England is coming over soon. I-I'm sorry if that bothers you or anything, I can always go and-" Ivan shook his head, shrugging, "Nyet, it is fine," he assured the younger. The Russian could see his eyes easier without the slight reflection of his glasses. "You look different without your glasses, Matvey," He said in a rather soft voice. It was almost a shy tone of voice, questioning.

Matthew just wanted to tackle the tall man, preferably before he died of cuteness.

"I hope it's a good different," He asked lightly, his smile easily heard in his words. Russia smiled back, the smile Matthew liked. The real one where his eyes squinted slightly and he looked happy. "Da," was the simple answer he received. After a cough Russia was about to continue on when there was a knock on the door and he quickly shut his mouth, looking half relieved and half annoyed. What was that all about? He walked over barefoot to the door. He was in polar-bear print pj bottoms, an old hockey shirt from somewhere, and he was sure his hair was an absolute mess. But hey, England had helped raise him, he'd seen worse.

Not bothering to ask who it was he flung open the door and yawned hello at England. Arthur nodded and walked into the room, pulling his navy colored pea coat tighter around him. At least someone was dressed smartly for the weather.

Russia had disappeared into the kitchen, busying himself with feeding Fluffy and Kumajiro.

Canada turned around after closing the door. "So Arthur," Canada began before the British man interrupted him, leaning in close and whispering, "Has he been treating you alright lad?" Matthew was surprised to see actual concern under thick eyebrows. He almost sounded like his old self, when Matthew called him Dad. Shaking that thought away Canada sighed. "Yes, Arthur, I'm fine. Yesterday was a big misunderstanding. Nothing actually happened between us," He explained, sounding like he was trying to reason with the former empire. England's eyes narrowed, his caterpillar eyebrows coming together comically, "But you do like him, correct?" He asked, sounding curious and for all the world like a teenage girl about to get her hands on some juicy gossip, "America told me and France you did."

Who knew Alfred wanted to die early?

Gritting his teeth trying to hold back his anger, a blush darting across his face mumbling about how he was going to deal with the fucking hoser later. In response to the question he just nodded his head, looking away. England just smiled gently and pat his leg "Good luck son," He was smiling slightly when he stood and left the Canadian's sight. Matthew just folded his arms and hid his face in them, plotting Alfred's demise.

What Canada didn't know was that England hadn't left yet. He was still there, but was now in the kitchen.

Russia had been wrapping both fluffy and Kumajiro up in his scarf, making him giggle happily. He already knew he had a rather outlandish sense of humor; it just wasn't dark like people seemed to think it was. It was only odd. When he heard steps approaching the kitchen he turned around his giggles ceasing but the smile still there. It dimmed slightly when he saw England not Matvey, but the emerald eyed nation pretended not to notice.

The oddest thing about the visit was that England had a fierce look in his eyes that surprised Russia. England walked right up to him and, despite the drastic height difference, managed to look intimidating. His words were only a threatening mummer, "If you hurt him, I know six ways to castrate you with a spoon." Then he smiled, all traces of threatening manor disappearing, "Good luck!" He said before trotting off, presumably out the door as Ivan heard it close a few seconds later. He really was a strange nation.

Violet eyes blinked, a little confused. Did that count as one of Matthew's parental figures's blessing?


End file.
